Anime, like any storytelling medium, has its moments of eerie synchronicity—twin series phenomena where two shows drop in concert with one another and echo each other’s themes with uncanny precision. Usually, this narrative mirroring plays out in the well-worn grooves of isekai: a protagonist dies (often by a rogue truck) and wakes up in a supernatural fantasy realm brimming with magic and adventurer tropes.
But this fall, the two-way mirror cracked in a different direction. We’ve seen not one, but two supernatural drama series steeped in queer longing, each circling the same seductive premise: falling for the monster. It’s strange, it’s specific, and it absolutely rules that it happened twice.
At the forefront of queer anime’s horror renaissance is The Summer Hikaru Died. In it, Yoshiki Tsujinaka faces an impossible choice: destroy the demonic entity wearing his best friend’s skin, or let it keep living as “Hikaru”—someone he’s clearly still in love with after his passing. His selfish decision to preserve their twisted companionship unleashes a cavalcade of horrors. As yokai descend upon their quiet countryside town, the two must grapple with their relationship and what they have become since Yoshiki decided to keep “Hikaru” around, despite the clear and present danger he poses.
Hikaru’s yokai possession is just the surface of their mess. Beneath it lies Yoshiki’s struggle to parse his feelings both for “Hikaru,” the entity, and Hikaru, the boy he lost—as he weighs whether their uncanny relationship should be severed for the village’s safety or preserved as a space to grieve.
Meanwhile, “Hikaru” grapples with his own identity: are his affections and fierce protectiveness remnants of his host’s dying wish, or something intrinsic to the monster he’s become? That tension between rejecting “monstrous” instincts or embracing them as authentic is another ripple in the show’s queer thematic current. Add in Yoshiki’s conservative parents casually enforcing heteronormativity, an everyday horror for queer youth who aren’t out, and the looming threat of yokai, and the series becomes a pendulum swing between supernatural dread and the quieter violence of emotional repression. All, in our humble estimation, is a recipe for a pretty good horror anime.
As if to say, “Boys had their fun; now it’s dark yuri’s time,” enters Crunchyroll’s This Monster Wants to Eat Me. True to its title, the anime follows Hinako, a depressed high schooler who, after losing her family in a tragic incident, flings herself into the ocean on some Kate Chopin’s The Awakening energy—only to be saved by a strange girl with deep ocean eyes. Hinako, prone to zoning out and fantasizing about sinking into the depths of the sea, finds herself tethered to Shiori, who’s just as intent on keeping her afloat. Turns out, Shiori’s a mermaid. And in Japanese folklore, mermaids skew less Disney princess and more Greek siren.
Like “Hikaru,” Shiori’s whole deal is protecting Hinako from other yokai feasting on her blood. The only difference is that her chivalry is in the service of her wanting Hinako all to herself. It’s a supernatural gourmet setup: Shiori’s waiting until Hinako is ripe enough to eat. Hinako, meanwhile, is a little too into the idea, finding a twisted comfort in knowing Shiori’s eventual devouring of her will grant her absolution and a reunion with her family. There’s a lot to unpack, but at its core is a slow-burning, forbidden romance à la Carmilla and Laura in Joseph Sheridan Le Fanu’s vampiric Dracula progenitor novel. The dark sapphic pretense of Shiori wanting Hinako to taste good before she eats her virtually translates to her wanting her meet-cute gal pal to be happy before the end. It’s romantic, we swear.
While Netflix hasn’t leaned as hard into the overt queerness of its supernatural anime, Crunchyroll’s team certainly has—dropping quippy YouTube clips about “pre-meal pillow talk” and Hinako being Shiori’s “A5 wagyu human.” Stay in the queer anime game long enough, and you earn the right to riff on “Will you have a meal, or a bath? Or will you have me?” in your promo copy, apparently.
What makes this wave so refreshing is its prominence. These aren’t niche side stories in a grander adventure you can skip past. They’re front and center. And it’s something we’re seeing more and more in newer crops of anime. Sanda, for instance, takes a subtler approach with Shiori Fuyumura, enlisting her Santa Claus-transforming classmate, Sanda Kazushige (who clearly has a crush on her), to find her (and presumed dead) missing friend, Ichie Ono. All the while, Ichie and Shiori’s bond hints at something deeper than just being classmates, serving as the driving force behind the Prime Video anime series’ madcap misadventures.
And on the horizon, I Want to Love You Till Your Dying Day promises to be another entry in the growing canon of dark supernatural sapphic storytelling.
So why do these musings on queer stories in anime matter? Because each of these series demonstrates how queerness, when woven into the fabric of supernatural storytelling, doesn’t just check a box to diversify the genre; it deepens it. These aren’t just garden-variety tales of yokai and monsters. They’re stories of grief, desire, identity, and survival, refracted through queer lenses that challenge the norms of who gets to be haunted, who gets to be loved, and who gets to be monstrous.
In a medium often saturated with recycled premises, romances, and tropes, these shows feel like a breath of fresh (albeit eerie) air. They serve as reminders that anime, at its best, is for everyone, and that it becomes more resonant when it dares to step outside the well-trodden path. And really, in a genre where yokai usually hunt babies, brides, and virgins, who wouldn’t want a beautiful, forlorn monster to save them from their spiraling existential dread?